Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, AWAKE, MY SPIRIT, by L. SWEET



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

AWAKE, MY SPIRIT, by            
First Line: Awake, my spirit, bear me swiftly
Last Line: No—nor with the aches of man.
Subject(s): Pain; Suffering; Misery


Awake, my spirit, bear me swiftly,
Through the ether'd spaces swiftly,
To some remote and kindlier vale,
Where the tender dove is nesting,
And the lofty eagle resting
From his flight o'er hill and dale;

Where the early morning hustle
And the sleepy noonday rustle
Of the rabbit and the toad,
With a low harmonious jingle
May in hushed unison mingle
With the cricket on the road.

E'en the serpent safely sunning,
Which displays both grace and cunning,
In the copse-wood I descry,—
Though he's stretched out very next me,
Seemingly he does not fear me
As I pass him slowly by.

Listen, spirit, to the flatter
And the caw and friendly chatter
Of the male bird in his lair,—
While he's at his duties lowly,
May I slowly—oh so slowly—
Approach the nest he's guarding there?

Hearken, how the gentle quiver
On the surface of the river
Brings the lightning and the gloom,—
Then the sweet outpouring laughter
Of the raindrops coming after
In the valley full of bloom.

In my dreaming I can vision
How the rainbow spanning heaven
Promises 'a morrow bright;
While the wind's low moan, undying,
Through the oak boughs, soft is sighing,
"God is everywhere tonight!"

Then I ponder deep and wonder,
O'er and o'er within me wonder
If the storm that's in my soul
Will abate, through others' sharing,
Or grow heavier with despairing
As the countless seasons roll;

If the heaviness on awaking
Or the aching and the breaking
In my heart will e'er grow less,
As a lady's form that passes
Casts a shadow on the grasses
And so sinks to nothingness

As I listen to the plainting,
Of the night-bird, never feinting,
Lo, I hear it as before—
Hear a restless voice a-crying,
Through the wet boughs gently sighing,
Sighing gently, "All is o'er."

Yet oh never will I sever,
Never willingly will sever
Friendship with the bursting showers,
With the beasts or birds or fairies
Or the honey-bee that carries
Sweets unto the thirsting flowers;

With the field-mouse in the furrows,
Or the mole that blindly burrows,
Though his life is but a span;—
No—nor with the aches of man.





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